Yellow Springs: Putting the “High” in Ohio

'Yellow
Spring' was discovered around 1800 and was quickly famed for its 'curative
waters'. For more than 100 years the town that took its name was a popular
attraction with hotels, spas, boarding houses and a tavern to serve
travellers on the nearby stagecoach route. After completion of the Little
Miami Railroad, in 1846, Yellow Springs
became a centre of trade and recreation. The spring still exists but
the spas, boarding houses and large hotels are gone and the railroad
has been converted into miles of biking trails. Now people seek other
forms of 'cure' around these parts. I think I figured out what that
was quite quickly!

I don’t know how many random Santa spottings I had
there - old hippies with long grey beards riding their bikes in a hazy
daze on their way to the oldest head shop in Ohio. ('Head shops', for
sober individuals who don’t use illegal drugs, are stores that
sell drug paraphernalia like bongs and pipes. The materials are marked
“for tobacco use” with mental finger quotes around “tobacco.”)

You need to know about head shops in these parts, you
see. After 12 hours in Yellow Springs, complete insanity seemed completely
normal, but at least you'll then know the reason why. Yellow Springs
has more than its fair share of them and business seems to be booming.
Well, you have to keep the locals happy, don't you? Whatever their condition,
the hippies in Yellow Springs can all remember where to find “the
oldest head shop in Ohio”. That’s what Greg Savage, aka
“Paw Dingleberry”, of Dingleberry’s, told
me. Apparently no one can remember a head shop from before 1974. I wonder
why.

Owa might know, but he couldn’t tell you either. The owner of
an herb store just down the street, he went and lived with the Hoppe
Indians about 20 years ago. He still has the same curly mullet, only
looooonger! Yeah! He might also still love the peyote, maybe with a
side of bee pollen, his store product of choice.

It’s probably organic, too.

Almost everything in Yellow Springs is. There’s whole-wheat crust
at Ha-Ha Pizza, and the Emporium sells state-controlled
wine and soup. Current Cuisine is a veggie delight, until you
see the prices, and then you wish there was a dollar menu within 15
miles of the place. The lunch box seemed the best deal.

Tom’s Market sells organic produce, has
every shishi foodie item the yahoos ask for, and the woman at the counter
can’t tell you how to find Glen Helen, the gorgeous 1,000-acre
nature preserve just down the street - literally, around the corner
on Corry Street. It’s free, has nice trails, a visitor center
and museum. But I digress.

I was talking about all the kooky things found in Yellow Springs, the
small village that houses uber-liberal Antioch College and
is about 30 minutes south of Route 70 between Columbus and Dayton.

Need something from another country? How about Asian, Tibetan or South
American wares? Not your style? Maybe you want some German Nuts. Wait,
the nuts have closed the store and gone into the streets.

I saw them everywhere.

Gemini
is a cool little gallery filled with musical instruments from around
the world. Most of them I could touch and try to play. As I pounded
a drum, I thought people who had purchased “tobacco” would
lose their impulse control and actually buy one of the expensive toys,
and that must be great for business. Considering the store was surviving,
there’s either a secret band of African drummers or my hunch was
right.

If I had been high like the rest of the town seemed to be, I could
have spent hours in sensory overload. Then I could have gone and talked
with my dead grandmother, had my dog psychoanalyzed and relaxed my chi.
But I liked Gemini, even though I’m an Aquarius and we
shouldn’t get along.

Ken Simon, who studied philosophy at the University of Rochester back
in the 1960s, owns the joint (which type? Maybe both joints…),
and he played a crystal bowl for me. Nice guy. We talked about Rochester
– my hometown – and travelling. I told him about my trip
(NOT that kind!) and he told me to be careful.

“I did the same thing once, and I got here and never left.”
He doesn’t even travel the world buying instruments to play and
sell. He gets them in the mail.

Dave Chapelle lives outside of Yellow Springs. Did you know that? I
didn’t. But I shouldn’t be surprised.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think a lot of his jokes revolve
around drugs. And there are plenty of those in Yellow Springs, if the
number of dreadlocks and “tobacco” bongs is any indication.

That’s not to say you need to put the high in Ohio to have a
good time in Yellow Springs.

I didn’t smoke, snort, sniff, huff or drop a single thing - other
than a few dollars for a book at Dark
Star Books on Xenia Avenue.

I
talked with Dark Star Steve about the healing cat Bart - “We try
to sell books here, but really people just come for the cat. I call
it the world’s smallest petting zoo” - and about the old
collection of Yellow Springs Police reports I couldn’t find a
copy of but might be available to read at the library; “Man Bites
Dog” and “Woman Pees in Mop Bucket” are two local
favorites. They even list who gets a speeding ticket, so watch out.

My
favorite thing about Steve was his nametag. I took a picture. It says
“I WILL OBEY.” The world needs more people wearing that
nametag. It’s better than just “Hi, my name is Id E. Oat.”

Anyway, I was ready to drop a few more dollars on another book of merit,
so I entered Epic Books on Dayton Avenue to find it. Aptly
named, but for all the wrong reasons.

A theme developed as I read the book titles. I shouldn’t have
been surprised. The lavender paint, patchouli incense and pipe music
should have tipped me off. I had seen it before in town… everywhere
in town, actually. If you want more, check out Angelic Devas
(I’m not kidding) on Xenia Avenue by The Little Art Theater. Those
diva Devas will take care of your chakras in no time.

Back on Dayton Street the Epic Books were all epically ridiculous.
I could create my own goddess, think without thinking or find out how
Uranus meets my moons.

That last topic deserved a second look, I figured, but I still had
to get some ice cream before leaving.

Uranus and my moons would have to meet later. It was time for me to
go to Young’s Jersey Dairy, where I could play miniature
golf at Udders and Putters, work through a corn maze or ride
around the farm watching them milk cows and magically turn it into a
screaming delight.

But I was shrieking in disgust. After spending about 15 minutes in
a busy line of lactose-loving folks, I stepped up to the counter.

A purple concoction caught my eye. It looked like Barney vomiting a
grape Popsicle. Actually, it was called something like vomit, or trash
or garbage… I seem to have suppressed the exact name. But it was
everything the name promised, and more.

Some Yellow Springs resident with a serious case of the munchies threw
chocolate-covered rice crispy treats and pretzels into vanilla ice cream,
then added purple food coloring and Pop Rocks. That’s right, I
said Pop Rocks.

Now, I’ve had bubble gum and gummy bears in my ice cream as a
kid, but never Pop Rocks. So, being the daring gastronomic adventurer
I am (or maybe I just had a bad case of the munchies after spending
too long in Dingleberry’s), I was willing to give it a try.

Flavors and textures clashed on my tongue and I struggled to cope with
them. But as the first Pop Rock exploded in my mouth I screamed - no,
I shrieked – in disgust. It taught me a valuable lesson: research
before adventuring - especially down the gastronomic trail!

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